


New Kid on the Block

by mrs_sakuma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ace!Dean, AceSPNMiniBang 2016, Asexual Character, Dubious Consent, F/M, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Prostitution, Underage Prostitution, ace!Castiel, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:26:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7030816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_sakuma/pseuds/mrs_sakuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is nineteen years old and sells his body on the street in order to keep food on the table and clothes on their backs, because John sure as shit won't. Castiel is new to the business, and Dean takes the kid under his wing, teaching them the ins and outs and how to stay safe while entertaining the men, and occasional women, that buy their time. (written for the AceSPNMiniBang)</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Kid on the Block

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, never have been, and do not know anyone who has been a sex worker of any kind. All of my information comes from television, other fiction, and very basic internet research.
> 
> Art for this fic was done by kuwlshadow and can be found on Tumblr (http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/post/145141905688/title-new-kid-on-the-block-author-mrs-sakuma) or LiveJournal (http://kuwlshadow.livejournal.com/32614.html)
> 
> It was beta read by my dad between 2 and 5 in the morning. That was an adventure.
> 
> Anyway, this is my first posting to AO3 so please forgive me if the formatting comes out strange, I'll try to fix it if it is!

Dean sighed, rolling his shoulder as he approached his usual spot that Wednesday. His night was just starting, the sun wasn’t even all the way down yet, and he already wanted to go home. He hated leaving Sam alone. He knew the kid had eaten, a  _ great _ dinner, consisting of a Hot Pocket and instant mashed potatoes, and had finished his homework. Sammy was probably texting his friends about the latest teen drama and would head to bed in a couple of hours. But not Dean. Dean had work to do. Someone had to keep clothes on their backs, a roof over their heads, and food, as processed and shitty as it was, on their table, and John Winchester certainly wasn’t going to do it. He hadn’t seen his father in six weeks, since the new school year started at the end of August, and when he  _ did _ finally decide to show up, he would probably be looking for booze money.

He settled against the crumbling brick wall of a vacant office building. Across the street, he could see Meg, head bowed and hands cupped as she lit what looked like a cigarette, and nodded to her when she looked up. When he first started working these streets, she looked healthier, with dark, pretty hair. Now it was bleached to hell and she was way too thin. They’d been working this corner together for years now, and kept an eye out for each other, made sure nobody got too rough. Sometimes they even worked together, either letting some voyeur watch the two of them or fucking a john together. Dean didn’t do that with anyone else. Meg was different from the other whores along the block. She had given him his first joint, had taught him to blow smoke rings, and he knew he could count on her to help him out if he really needed it.

An hour and a half later, Meg had disappeared down the block with a greasy looking guy, but Dean recognized him as one of her regulars, so he wasn’t concerned, and a tall woman with dark hair approached him with a smile and soft greeting of, “Hey there, baby.” The blood red nails of one hand traced his face and he straightened up, following her around to the back of the building after she tucked a bundle of bills into his breast pocket.

He generally preferred men over women because it was easier on him, less work to do. He could just bend over and brace himself against a wall, or sit on his knees and let them fuck his mouth. But with women, he typically had to do more. He had to engage himself in the act, had to move more, to make them enjoy it the way they wanted. And he wasn’t particularly fond of sex in the first place.

It wasn’t that he hated it, but he didn’t understand the need. Why people would go so far as to  _ pay _ someone else for it. Sure, an orgasm felt good, but more often than not, Dean didn’t get off when he was paid, and he’d never had the time, nor the inclination, to have sex with someone that  _ wasn’t _ paying him.

Dean pushed aside the crate in front of the boarded door in the back of the office building, yanked it open, and led his customer, who called herself Amara and Dean didn’t know or care if that was her real name or not, to the twin-size mattress he had scavenged from a nearby dumpster for some place a little more comfortable to work. There was a thin, stained sheet on the mattress, and a couple of musty blankets piled in the corner, for the nights when it really got cold and he needed to take a break to warm up a little. She closed the door behind them and then advanced on Dean, kissing his neck and pulling his jacket over his shoulders and down his arms.

Dean groaned softly, pretending to enjoy her mouth more than he did, and dropped his jacket completely. He let her lead, pushing him towards the mattress and then crawling over him. She touched him through his jeans, which were ripped in the thighs and knees, exposing sensitive, vulnerable skin. He moaned as his dick began to respond. He  _ was _ nineteen, after all, and as uninterested as he generally was, a hand still felt good. She smiled, obviously pleased, and urged him to take off his t-shirt as well.

Swallowing, Dean nodded and did as she asked. She lowered her head and mouthed at the scar on his chest, a pentagram that another trick had carved into him. Dean had been paid handsomely for letting the man break his skin like that, enough that Dean didn’t have to work for a couple of weeks, just enough time for it to heal, but he hated it. It was a reminder of just how far he had fallen. He’d only been sixteen at the time and he hadn’t realized how much it would hurt, how scared he would be having a strange man wielding a knife so close to his throat, how difficult it would be to treat and hide a wound like that from Sam and his classmates and teachers. He could have easily been killed that night, but the money was too much to turn down. He’d thought that he could find a real job in that time, or that John would come home, that he wouldn’t have to do this anymore.

He was young, and naïve, and he hated his stupid sixteen-year-old self for agreeing to something so dangerous. He was lucky it hadn’t gotten infected.

Dean grabbed Amara’s face and pulled her up for a kiss so she would stop touching it, and she gladly complied, grinding the heel of her hand into his crotch. “You’re so pretty, baby,” she murmured, smiling against his mouth.

Dean hummed and replied in kind, telling her how beautiful and hot and sexy she was, even though he really didn’t get what sexy  _ meant _ , exactly. He let his hands roam, finding the sensitive places he had learned in the past six months, during which she had come to see him often. Her visits had become more frequent over time, only coming a couple of times a month at first, and then once a week, and now twice a week most of the time. Soon, he had Amara on her back, moaning and gasping under him. Not wanting to drag things out unnecessarily, Dean dug out a condom from his pocket and shucked his jeans. He rucked up her dress, exposing her clean shaved mound and her slit, already glistening with arousal. Dean didn’t wrinkle his nose at the scent, even though he wanted to. It was always so strong and strange and unappealing, men and women, but he pushed that aside and leaned in to lick her a couple of times, until her hands found his hair and pulled, indicating she wanted more.

He sat up and tore open the condom, rolling the latex over his cock, which was at least half-hard but not quite fully. Then he pressed into her, with only a little difficulty, and began thrusting his hips mechanically, listening to her praise and direction, moving faster or slower, harder or gentler as she demanded, his dick filling out more as he did. Finally she came, moaning and shouting his name. Except, not his name, because he never gave out his real name. The last thing he needed was some trick trying to find him outside of regular business hours.

When she was finished, Dean pulled out and tossed the condom towards the trash can in the corner. He pulled his jeans up, ignoring the fact that he was still hard, while she panted on the mattress, pulling herself together again. The lack of release would just help him with the next customer. She stood up as Dean was shrugging back into his jacket and combed her fingers through her hair while Dean counted the money.

“This is more than usual,” he said, frowning at the extra fifty dollars.

“Buy yourself something nice with it,” she said.

Dean looked up at her, confused. “Why?”

“Because you deserve it,” Amara replied, brushing off the skirt of her dress. Not wanting to question it further and accidentally convince her to take it back, Dean shrugged and pocketed the hundred and twenty again. That fifty could get Sam a new winter coat. He thanked her and opened the door again, letting her out first. “I’ll see you soon, baby,” she said, cupping his face with her hand again. Then she was gone and Dean was making his way back to his spot against the brick.

Meg was back, smoking something as she leaned against her own wall. Dean didn’t know how she managed to buy cigarettes, or maybe it was weed, but then again, maybe she only had to feed herself. Dean had given up smoking after the carving incident, when it became obvious that he was going to have to keep doing this just to keep them fed. He’d dropped out of school that year, too. He’d finished the tenth grade and then just never went back. He didn’t have the time or money to commit to learning. He had to work.

It had already been dark when Dean went back with Amara, and by one it was getting a little chilly. When he heard a shout down the block, Dean had already been with three tricks and was considering taking a lunch break. It wasn’t Meg’s voice, and when Dean looked up, he saw a man walking out of an alley down the block, adjusting his pants and the voice came again.

“You promised me fifty!”

The man turned around and said something that Dean couldn’t make out, and the person that came from the alley after him complained, “You owe me another thirty bucks!”

The trick laughed and Dean frowned. He looked at the other prostitute, who appeared younger than Dean, and caught the shine of blue eyes in the street lights. He had to be new to this; the kid didn’t look seasoned at all, and Dean had certainly never seen him before. A face like that wouldn’t have been easily forgotten. His hair was chopped short and uneven, and the rough edge to his voice seemed forced, like he were deliberately trying to speak lower than was natural. He was wearing jeans that had seen better days and a baggy t-shirt that said “Jesus Freak” on the front in faded lettering, a tattered backpack hanging from one arm. The man laughed again, and this time Dean could hear his response.

“Maybe I would have given you the rest if you hadn’t been such a prude about it!”

The jerk turned and started walking away, and Dean could see the boy was confused and frustrated and didn’t know what to do. “That isn’t fair!” he shouted. “I did what you wanted!”

“What are you gonna do about it? Go to the cops?” the man sneered, turning around to face him again. Dean scowled and started towards them.

“Hey! Pay up, asshole, or you’re gonna be sorry,” he said. They both looked at him then.

“What,  _ you’re _ gonna make me?” the creep snapped. Dean didn’t recognize him, either, and he didn’t think it was likely he would see him again after this.

“Yeah, I am,” Dean growled, reaching him, and drew himself up to his full height. The man was easily twice his age and had a good half foot on him, and probably close to a hundred pounds, but Dean knew how to fight. He wasn’t afraid of a cheap trick. “Now, give him the thirty bucks.”

The man snorted and brushed passed him, scoffing, “Fuckin’ whores.”

Dean threw a punch and had him on the ground in a matter of seconds, knee pinning him down by the chest. “Being a whore is better than being a cheat. Now, I think you owe my friend here some money. How much did he promise you?” he asked, looking up at the spooked newbie.

“F-fifty,” he stuttered.

Dean nodded and shoved his knee into the guy’s sternum. “Where’s your wallet?”

“Fuck you,” he wheezed. Rolling his eyes, Dean slammed the guy again, knocking the wind out of him.

“What was that?”

“B-back pocket,” he gasped. Dean smiled and pulled it out. He counted out four twenties, a ten, and two fives.

“Here you go,” he said, holding the hundred out.

The kid blinked, taking the cash with a trembling hand. “I-I… This is too much.”

“He tried to stiff you,” Dean said with a shrug. “So now he has to pay double. Just take it.” He turned back to the man with a glare. “I don’t want to see you on this street again, understand?” The prick nodded and Dean let him up. He took off running and Dean smirked satisfactorily, then turned to the kid again. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” he murmured, nodding as he tucked the money into a wallet he had pulled from the bag.

“You gotta be careful around here,” Dean said. “Didn’t you count it before you started?”

“He didn’t pay me until after.”

“Okay, that’s your first mistake.  _ Always _ get your money up front. Even if they come by all the time. You never know when somebody might try to rip you off like that.”

The kid nodded, sniffling. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said. “We take care of our own around here.” They stood quietly for a moment, and then he said, “So. I haven’t seen you down here before.”

“This, uh, this is my first night,” he said, reaching up to rub at his mouth, which was red and slightly swollen.

“I’m Dean. What’s your name?”

“Castiel,” he said, licking his lips.

“You probably shouldn’t use it while you’re working, if that’s your real name,” Dean suggested. “Sometimes these guys like to figure out who you really are. I tell the tricks it’s Michael.”

“Oh.” Castiel’s eyes went wide, surprised.

“How much have you made tonight?”

“Uh, well, almost two hundred, now,” he said. “Thanks to you.”

Dean nodded. He had just over that much himself, but he was hoping to double what he had before heading home. “You eat today?” Castiel shook his head. “Let’s take a break. There’s a Biggerson’s a few blocks down.” Castiel bit his lip and then nodded.

As they started down the street, Dean saw Meg coming back from her last trick. He waved and shouted, “I’m getting dinner! Stay safe, y’hear?”

Meg flipped him the bird and called back, “Bring me a drink!”

“Get your own!” Dean replied. They continued down the street, Meg’s laughter echoing after them.

“Is she also…” Castiel trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

“Yeah. That’s Meg. She’s been working these streets longer than me. We keep tabs on each other, make sure we don’t just disappear.”

“And keep the customers honest?”

“When we have to,” Dean said, shrugging and giving Castiel a little smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye on you,” he promised, slinging his arm around Castiel’s shoulders.

They walked in silence for a little while, until they reached the fast food place, staying close and sharing their heat. It was strangely comfortable. Dean wasn’t usually so physical with people, unless they were customers or Sam, and those were two very different sorts of physical. Castiel was a stranger, but Dean felt a sense of comradery between them already, something that had him touching him familiarly, the way he did his younger brother.

When they arrived, Dean flirted with the girl behind the counter, Lisa, smiling and winking in all the right places. Then he collected their food and led Castiel to a table. “So, Cas. I don’t know how new you are to the city, but I can show you around some. There are a few shelters in the area if you need a place to crash for the night, and some give out free meals if you need it.”

Castiel shook his head, looking down at his food. “I can’t go to the shelters, I’m underage. They’ll call CPS.”

Dean hummed, nodding. He’d been doing everything he could the past few years to keep Child Protective Services away from his door, too. “Alright. Well, I know there’s a soup kitchen that doesn’t check that kind of thing where you can at least get a free meal once a day..” Castiel nodded, tearing into his burger and groaning in pleasure at the taste. “Do you at least have some warmer clothes? It gets fucking cold out there.”

Castiel nodded, indicating the bag he’d been carrying. “I have a couple of long shirts and a sweater,” he said around the thick mouthful of food.

“You’re going to want a heavy coat by the time winter hits,” Dean advised. “Where are you from?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here now, and I can’t go back.”

“Did you run away?” Castiel shook his head, chewing on another large bite. “Kicked out, then. That’s rough.” Dean couldn’t imagine the pain that would have come from getting kicked out like that. He and Sam were abandoned most of the time, but at least they had a place to call home. “Where’ve you been sleeping, if you can’t go to the shelter?”

“Park benches, mostly,” Castiel said, wadding up the wrapper, and then grabbed his drink, sucking on the straw noisily.

“Watch out for cops, then. You don’t want to end up spending the night in jail.”

Quiet fell over them as Dean dug in as well. Castiel finished eating first, and watched Dean for a moment before asking, “How long have you been doing this?”

“What? Selling? Christ, like, almost four years now, I guess.”

Castiel was quiet for a moment, considering Dean’s answer before he spoke again. “Do you  _ like _ doing this?”

“Fuck no,” Dean laughed. “I thought it’d just be an occasional thing, ’til we had more money. But that never happened.” Castiel hummed, frowning slightly, but didn’t say anything else. When Dean was finished, they headed back to the street they’d left, each five dollars poorer.

Halfway back to their block, Castiel finally asked, “Does it get… easier? Less humiliating?” His head was ducked and Dean’s chest ached. Castiel was a kid, hardly older than Dean had been when he’d started, and it was obvious he didn’t want to be doing this but didn’t feel there was another option.

“It’s all about your attitude, Cas. It sucks, I won’t lie. I hate getting on my knees for some fucking business man every night, but it pays my bills. If you do it long enough, it gets easier. You get used to it.” Dean hoped Castiel wouldn’t have to get used to it. That he could find something else to keep himself fed. They walked the rest of the way in silence, until they reached the office building Dean always camped in front of.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said as the younger boy started to head further down the block to the alley he’d appeared from. Castiel turned and looked at him, brow creased. “You got enough condoms for tonight?”

Dean saw Castiel’s eyes widen a little and then his face seemed to shutter closed in embarrassment. “No. I didn’t have the cash to buy any.”

“Fuckin’… Here,” Dean sighed, digging into his pocket. He held out half a dozen to Castiel, who stepped forward and accepted them nervously. “Don’t be dumb, okay? And if you  _ are _ gonna go without, you’d better be charging double, understand?” Castiel nodded, blushing. “Take care of yourself. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Castiel nodded again, smiling slightly. “Thank you, Dean.” Then he turned away again and went back to the alley Dean had first seen him emerge from.

~~

On Sunday morning, Dean got home to find the place trashed. The door was unlocked and everything was a mess. “Sam?” he called, ignoring the destruction and heading for his brother’s room. “Sammy?” Sam’s door was locked, so he knocked, hard, banging on the wood until the fifteen-year-old opened it, looking exhausted. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Sam croaked, eyes welling with tears. “He, he seemed okay, he wasn’t e-even drunk, Dean, I thought… I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad!”

“What happened?” Dean repeated. “It was Dad, wasn’t it?”

Sam nodded, sniffling. “He showed up about ten, and things were fine. But then I woke up at four to him tearing the place up. He was looking for more booze, a-and money. I gave him what I had, I thought he’d just take it and go, but he said it wasn’t enough.”

“Did he hurt you?” Dean asked, taking Sam’s face in his hands, turning his head side to side, checking carefully for bruises or cuts.

“No. He took a swing, but I locked myself in my room. He was around for a couple more hours.”

“Why didn’t you call me?” Dean demanded.

“You were working,” Sam murmured.

“Sam. I’ve told you, if there’s an emergency, go ahead and call. You are more important than any customer,” Dean said. Sam didn’t know what Dean did and was obviously afraid of getting his brother in trouble with a boss that didn’t exist. Sighing, Dean touched Sam’s shoulder and nodded towards the rest of the apartment. “Come on, let’s go check the damage.”

The kitchen was in ruins, boxes of food scattered around, the instant mashed potatoes spilled across the floor. Dean ground his teeth angrily, fists clenching at his sides. That was nearly a whole box, completely wasted now. The fridge door was hanging open, gallon of milk tipped over and leaking out under the lid, obviously not closed properly. Sighing, Dean righted the milk, so they wouldn’t lose any more of it, and closed the fridge. This was going to be a bitch to clean up. Hopefully, the fridge hadn’t been open so long that anything had gone bad.

The living room was pretty much destroyed. The couch cushions had been torn open, the old, second-hand Wii Dean had gotten Sam for his birthday the year before missing, probably to be pawned off, and Sam’s school books everywhere, pages torn loose.

“Are they gonna charge you for that?”

“Probably,” Sam said, gathering his books slowly, assessing the damage to each one. “I can borrow Kevin’s, probably, if I’m missing pages. Or Charlie’s.”

“I’ll give you what you need to replace them,” Dean promised.

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes I do,” Dean interrupted. “That’s my job.”

“I could get a job, Dean, to help pay for things,” Sam offered.

“No. We’ve been over this, Sam,” Dean said sternly. “You are going to focus on school, get into a good college, and become somebody.”

“You were my age when you started working!” Sam protested.

“No, I was sixteen,” Dean said. “You have more than six months before you’re that old.”

“Well, what about next summer? I’ll be sixteen, and there won’t be any school.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Dean sighed. “Part time for the summer might be okay. But right now, I need you to get a broom to start cleaning this up. I’m gonna go check my room.” Dean had money in his room. He kept several small stashes around the apartment, just in case something like this happened. Losing one stash wouldn’t ruin them, but it would mean that Sam wouldn’t be getting that winter coat. It was the middle of October and the kid had long outgrown his old coat. He still wore it, since it was all he had, but it looked ridiculous. Maybe he’d let Sam take his own coat during the day.

His bed was stripped and the mattress had been torn open, not for the first time. Dean would have to stitch it shut by hand again. His closet was open, clothes everywhere, and, yep, the shoebox of cash was open and empty, but he had expected that. It had held only a couple hundred dollars, meant to appease John with an easy find. They wouldn’t be replacing the game system any time soon, but maybe finding it had discouraged their father from looking further. Dean found the rent money, still sealed in its plastic bag, taped to the inside of the toilet tank. The medicine cabinet had been emptied, but it hadn’t occurred to their drunken father to check there.

Dean picked up the toothpaste and aspirin, putting them away again. He pulled the cash out and shoved it into his pocket, right next to his earnings from the night before. Then he went to the hall closet, which held their towels and the single extra set of bedding. Everything had been pulled out there, too, and the money Dean had been saving for Christmas was gone. “Fuck,” he hissed. There went their meager amount of fun money. Hopefully the last cache would still be in place.

Dean went back to the kitchen, dropping the rent money and the cash from his night of work on the table. He watched Sam sweeping up the instant mashed potatoes, some of which had gotten into the spilled milk. Then he opened the cupboard under the sink and found the money taped to the bottom of the sink basin. “Yahtzee,” he said, smiling to himself. At least they weren’t  _ totally _ fucked. They could probably pay the bills with this. It just meant they’d have to tighten their belts for a little while.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Dean said when he finished counting out the nine hundred and thirty-seven dollars. “As soon as I have enough, I’m changing the locks. He can’t keep doing this.”

Sam nodded, biting his lip.

~~

A week and a half later, Dean was leaning on his wall, a hundred bucks from Amara in his pocket, as the street lights started coming on, when a halfway familiar car started down the street, coming to a stop by the alley Cas had been occupying the past two weeks. Dean watched the other boy approach the car, frowning slightly. He knew that car, and he didn’t like it, but he couldn’t place why.

He started down the sidewalk, wanting to get a closer look. He had a bad feeling about the car, and Cas didn’t have the experience to trust his gut or the security to turn somebody down. Castiel was leaning against the car, talking through the passenger side window to whoever was behind the wheel. As he got closer, Dean could make out the driver, and his chest tightened, recognizing the man. How could he have not recognized the car sooner?

He grabbed Cas’s arm and tugged him back before he could open the door. “Get lost, or I’m calling the cops,” Dean said, glaring in at the man. Then he dragged Cas back up the street to his corner, ignoring the confused protesting.

“Dean, what!?” Cas finally snapped, yanking his arm back as the car sped off again.

“Do not.  _ Ever _ . Go with Alistair,” Dean ground out through his teeth. “He is bad fucking news. I have seen people get in his car and never come back. I don’t know where he takes them or what he does to them or how much he promises to pay them, but no amount of money is worth your  _ life _ , okay?”

“Okay,” Cas whispered, nodding, his eyes wide and frightened.

“Good. I’m gonna go bum a cigarette off Meg. You comin’?” Dean’s nerves were shot to shit and a cigarette was just what he needed to calm back down.

“Uh, okay. I don’t really smoke, though.”

“That’s okay,” Dean said, checking the traffic and grabbing Cas’s hand to pull him across the street. “Meg, baby, darling, please tell me you can spare a cancer stick,” Dean pleaded, smiling sweetly when they reached her.

“Of course I can,” Meg said, rolling her eyes. “Anything for you, handsome.”

“God, I love you,” Dean said, accepting the cigarette gratefully.

“Was that Alistair you just chased off the block?”

“Yes,” Dean huffed, lighting his cigarette. “Fuckin’ ass thinks if he changes his plates and only comes around every six months with a new paint job that he won’t be recognized.”

“He’s a psycho, Dean.”

“If he’s come around before and hurt people, shouldn’t we report that we saw him?” Cas asked, watching the two of them smoke with his wide, baby blue eyes.

“And tell them what, Cas?” Dean asked. “That we were standing on the street hooking when he pulled up next to us?”

“Cops don’t care about whores, Clarence,” Meg said.

“But Dean said he’d call the police if he came back,” Cas said.

“That was a bluff, Cas,” Dean sighed.

“They’ll lock us up for making a living, and that’s if they don’t just rip us off instead.”

“Rip us off?” Cas echoed softly.

“Sometimes they’ll try to sample the goods for free before locking somebody up,” Dean explained.

“You mean… The police assault people they’re arresting? Just because they’re prostitutes?”

“He means they  _ rape _ us if they want to. Don’t fuckin’ sugarcoat it, cutie,” Meg said, flicking her filter into the nearby gutter.

“And they can just get away with that?”

Dean sighed again, exhaling another lungful of smoke. “Cas. We’re street workers. What we do is illegal. So, as far as the cops are concerned, we don’t have any rights. Your best bet is to avoid them altogether. They don’t care about us.”

Dean couldn’t stand the devastated look on Cas’s face as another piece of innocence, maybe the last piece Cas even had, died out in his eyes. It was tough, realizing that you don’t mean anything to the people that were supposed to take care of you. “That’s why we’ve got each other, man. I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks,” Cas murmured, frowning.

~~

As morning broke, with the sun just starting to color the sky and the wind blowing, Dean made his way down to Cas’s corner again. “You doing okay down here?” he asked, watching the other boy stand there, arms wrapped around himself. Castiel nodded, giving Dean a little smile.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“You should really invest in some warmer clothes. Nobody wants a blow job from someone who can’t stop their teeth from chattering,” Dean joked. “You still sleeping on benches?” Cas nodded, looking up and down the sidewalk, checking for any potential last minute customers. “Look, Cas, it’s going to be way too cold for that soon.”

“What do you suggest I do, then? I don’t have much other choice,” Cas asked.

“Come here, I’ve got a spot you could crash. Better than a park bench at least.”

Cas frowned slightly but followed Dean back to his own corner. Dean led him around back, where he and Meg had seen Dean disappear plenty of times before. Meg catcalled after them, but Dean just flipped her off, otherwise ignoring her teasing. “The door here is boarded up, but you can pull it open,” he explained, yanking on it. “It’s not much, but it’s got a roof and walls, so you shouldn’t get snowed on. There’s even a mattress.” Castiel looked around the room, eyes wide, like he’d never imagined someplace like this could be real. “It’s not particularly soft, and it’s definitely dirty. I’ve fucked way too many people to count on it, but it’s more comfortable than the unforgiving wood or metal you’d find out there. There’s even some blankets over there.”

“I can stay here?” Cas asked, turning to Dean with wide eyes.

“Yeah. I mean, I only use it when I’m working. Might as well get some shut eye here during the day, right? You can even work in here, if I’m not using it. Better than an alley, right?”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said, stepping closer and throwing his arms around him.

“Hey, whoa, come on, it’s just a shitty, jizz-covered mattress, not Egyptian fucking silk,” Dean protested, before awkwardly returning the hug.

“You’ve done more for me in the short time we’ve known each other than anyone else has since I left home. I don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it,” Dean said, shrugging. “Tomorrow’s another day, right?”

Cas nodded and gave Dean another tight squeeze, then stepped back, grinning. “Thank you,” he said once more. Dean rolled his eyes and brushed it off again. It was getting late, Sam would have to get up soon, and Dean needed to hurry home to get breakfast ready.

He said goodnight and let himself out. Meg had already taken off, so Dean just shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for home, sighing to himself, “Yeah. Tomorrow’s another fucking day, alright.”


End file.
